The Mediocre Wizard Of BOZ
by AgentC2Orange
Summary: Sometimes you have to settle for less. Allen Walker wondered why he put up with them: The Scarecrow was threatening to kill them all, the Lioness wouldn't stop crying and the Bookman laughing at them was just obnoxious. Home Sweet Home never looked better
1. I'm 95 Percent Sure This is Still Kansas

**AN: **In 1939, Disney released the film that doomed the world. This is its love child. Apologies for any unfunnies. D:

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The end.

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"Oh, Timcampy! Why did you do it?" A young boy, with the sad eyes of an orphan and the stark white hair of someone old and forgotten, shook something small and golden in his hands. Allen Walker, 15 and (as established) an orphan, considered crying as he began to run down the lane towards home. Timcampy, slightly confused and disoriented, merely chomped his offending teeth. Allen slowed to a jog, then stopped and bent over on his knees once he saw the familiar broken mail box. Again, he held Timcampy up. 

"Now that you've bitten the Lee's daughter again, Mr. Lee (Head Supervisor of the Town Council, etc.) will most certainly have you…well. You know." Timcampy didn't respond, merely wiggling his tiny legs feebly as Allen held him on either side. Timcampy had done the worst deed of them all, harmed the beautiful sister of the Head Supervisor of the Town Council. They were only his baby teeth growing in! How could they blame the sweet gold creature?

"Killed. Tim. The lethal injection! The final hour is upon you! As Head Supervisor of the Town Council, he can get anything he wants done, you know. Anything!" Allen tried another shake for emphasis. Timcampy wiggled.

"It'll be dreadful!" Shake. Squirm.

Allen gave up trying to make an impression, and dejected wandered down the path to the farm. The sad little sign, hanging from some baling twine on a post read:

**Marian's Akuma**

Fresh Akuma

Trained Akuma

Too Many Akuma!

FOR SALE

Allen had come to live with Marian Cross after his father had died, leaving little Allen an orphan, and was in training to become the next manager of the constantly in debt "Akuma" farm (who wants to buy Akuma? Seriously? Not until they make teacup and designer breeds.) After a terrible and scarring accident with a permanent marker, extra-strength bleach and a blade saw, Allen's sweet face had been marred to its current state. Having worked for years on the farm, Allen often grew unhappy with his lot in life, spent finding ways to collect money, wrassle Akuma, and avoid his belligerent master._Speaking of…_

"Allen, you little shittle!" The tall (probably) drunken man stood at the edge of a rickety fence, holding a thin rope and a cattle prod. "Get your ass over here!"

"Oh…yes, master." Allen stuffed Tim down his shirt, and trotted over. How he hated working with the Akuma, they could back talk like nobodies business. That tendency to resort to violence and destruction also proved a hassle.

"No don't wanna, cho! Can't make me, cho!" The Akuma struggled on the end of the rope, alternately yelping and whining. As Allen pulled, and Cross lazily stood by and watched the boy, the Akuma fought the bath at every opportunity.

"Come on Saichiko! You're really disgusting!"

"Can't make me, cho! Too bad grandpa boy, cho!" Allen gritted his teeth. Today was not his idea of a good day. Those often involved candy, and bathroom breaks.

"Oh, Master! Something awful happened today!"

"This is my caring face."

"Tim bit that Lee girl again! The Head Supervisor of the Town Council will have him killed! You have to help! Oh please!"

"Did I mention this is my caring face? Now get back to work, idiot apprentice!"

"But Maste-"

"Do you seriously think I give a flying rat's ass?"

Allen promptly dropped the rope, lip quivering and eye's growing red tinged with rage. He ran off to the lean-to in the distance, with a spurt of energy.

"And if you dare start singing again, I'll cut your genitals off, ya hear me you idiot apprentice!" Cross shook a bottle of liquid of mysterious origins after the receding figure, then promptly flung it back. "Whatever. Want some?"

"Nah, I'm off the drink, cho."

Allen held Timcampy again, staring up at the cloudy gray sky, all the rain and wind had mysteriously stopped a few hours ago, which struck him as strange. Normally, Allen was quite an astute boy, but now, so torn between anger and self-pity, was too distracted to take much notice.

"I'm sorry, Tim! I tried, I really did." He held Timcampy tight against his chest. Timcampy merely wriggled, displeased, and chomped his tiny (baby? Questionable.) teeth together.

Suddenly, a dark, foreboding feeling filled Allen's gut as he heard the distinct and terrible jingle of a bike chain coming down the lane.

"Allleeeennn Walkerrrr? I need to speak to youuuu!" That slippery, slimy voice filled the air, and Allen looked up dejectedly.

"But! Head Supervisor Ko-!" Allen was cut off by the feeling of Timcampy being snatched from his hands, and having a mug of coffee shook in his face.

"This creature marred my perfect and beautiful sister! This is not acceptable!" He shoved Timcampy into a basket, and retracted his coffee filled hand.

"Now, I'll be taking this thing to the pound! Where he will be thrown into a cold metal cage!"

"No!"

"Then taken out, roughly! And strapped to a cold, metal table!"

"No!"

"Then a cold, metal-"

"Alright, I get the point."

"Ahem. Cold and metal needle will be injected! With poison! Into his little beastie veins! His life force draining from him!"

"No!"

"Then he will die! A cold and metal death!"

"I assumed that."

"What?"

"Well, you didn't need to tell me the last one. It's intuitive that if your injecting him with poison, he will die."

"Don't you get snarky with me! I'll increase your property taxes!"

"No!"

And with that, Komui veered off back down the lane, weaving all over the road (its hard to steer with no hands, mind you.) Allen sank to his knees and wailed to the sky.

"Why did you take my only friend?! Now I'm all alone in the world. And I don't even have a home I can go to, with family who loves me, and friends who need me! Nobody listens to me, even when I'm suicidal! Nobody would care if I died!" Allen began to sob this time, unable to contain his teenaged girl emotions. Then, a sudden squeal of brakes and a highly pitched and rage filled screech filled the air. A whoosh of gold flitted past Allen's head.

"Tim?!" Allen didn't think, he just ran after the golden spot in the distance. When Allen caught up to Timcampy, he grabbed him and ran off towards the small lean-to that was his home.

"Oh Tim! You came back! You came back for me!" Allen exclaimed, almost jumping up and down in excitement.

"Oh no, no no no!" Suddenly, Allen looked out the window. The Head Supervisor would surely come back! And this time, there would be no escaping the property taxes. Allen sank again, realizing that his false hope was now crushed again. He would never be free.

"_Somewhere over the rainbooow_-DWARGH."

"I warned you not to sing that song! You look nothing like Judy Garland!"

Allen briefly registered the feeling of being hit with a full bottle of cheap vodka, then blacked out briefly.

"That's it! I'm running away!" Allen suddenly sat straight up, clambered to his feet, grabbed Timcampy and carefully stepped around the broken glass around the floor, and stormed out the door. The slam of the door to the shack behind him caused it to tremble disturbingly, but Allen was already marching out and away, past the cornfields that stretched to eternity in this everloving place.

After a few miles of non-stop breakneck walking pace, Allen slowed and finally stopped. Panting, he (attempted to) looked at Timcampy, perched on the crown of his head.

"I'm hungry." Of course, Timcampy didn't respond. But someone did.

"Well, then, duckie, I'll feed you." Allen whipped around, only to be met face to face with a purple locked and intimidating tall man.

"I'm Jeryy, I'm a cook! And a part time fortune teller!"

"O-oh! Er. Hi?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm getting a vision for you!" Jeryy suddenly began to look concentrated, rubbing his chin with his hand.

"Its…its filled with food. Piles of food. Delicious food, fatty food, healthy food, greasy food, dry food!" Allen suddenly noticed his stomach growling.

"Yes? Yes?"

"Oh wait. Sorry, love. That was just me being hungry." Allen stammered for a minute, before Jeryy again, began to contemplate.

"I think you should go back."

"Oh, Hell no! I'll never go back! My master's cruel, my friends are all gone, my life sucks! I'm moving to Nebraska."

"Really, you should! Your…uh. Your Master is sick!"

"Master doesn't get sick. And if he was, I wouldn't care. Do you know what he made me do the other day?!"

"Er, no."

"I don't even want to talk about it."

"Okay, fine kid. Here's 10 dollars. Go home."

"No."

"15?"

Allen shrugged and crossed his arms.

"20. Final offer." Allen snatched the money and promptly turned on his heels.

"That's a boy!"

"Whatever, thanks for the exposition!" Allen grumbled.

Allen blinked.

His head hurt.

His arms hurt.

His legs hurt.

Wait? Was that blood?

He sat up promptly, dislodging Timcampy from his head, tossing the disgruntled golem into a slew of corn.

"I'm in…a corn field?" He looked around again, blue sky, bright sun, yellow corn, something squishy under him.

"Well, this still looks like Kansas at any rate." Then he felt something soaking through his pants, and jumped blot up. The broken body underneath him, he could only see the feet, looked to have been crushed by the broken side of his ramshackle lean-to. Those feet where however, sporting a lovely pair of bright red bowling shoes, complete with knee high checkered socks. Attractive.

What could he remember?

A tornado…? Or maybe it was just high winds.

The Head Supervisor? On a bike? He noted to stop taking those sleeping pills.

The fact that everything was suddenly in stunning techicolor?

"Holy craptasticals!"

* * *

**AN**: Thanks for reading! Next time? 

Rather Large Munchkins, A Pathetic Failure of a Decently Kind-Hearted Witch, and A Scarecrow With Severe Anger Management Issues.

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	2. I Could Spend It On Better Shoes

Ah, my dear friend. Crack is the name of the game. Have fun guys, hope you get some chuckles.

Disclaimer: This poor pathetic loser owns nothing.

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"Well, it says here that we're supposed to proclaim him a national hero." 

"Since when did we follow the script?"

"Yeah!"

"Shutup! The lot of you! Tiki, get the lights and the tap dancing shoes out for everyone."

"Man, I suck at dancing."

"You lot! Go be timid! It sez we got to be timid!"

Allen blinked owlishly up at the now receding crowd of people around him. Still sitting squarely on the lean-to side, he had been cornered by the rag-tag group only moments before. The shortest of the group, a spiky-haired, slightly eccentric (okay, all of them could be described as "eccentric"), pushed herself to the front.

"I'm Road, but just pretend you haven't seen us yet. Your sparkly savior is running late. I heard she tried to kill herself by inhaling glitter._Inhaling glitter_." She tittered and promptly disappeared. Allen didn't believe he had breathed in about five minutes. He clutched Timcampy to his chest again.

"I'm…I'm all alone again." A large poof of glitter, smelling of hairspray and abject misery, suddenly showered Allen.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Please don't cry!"

"What, no- I'm not cryin-!" Before him stood, complete in pink shimmery dress and with pointy magic wand, a thin and dark haired woman. Her curly hair was covered in glitter, the tiara that topped it slightly askew.

"I'm so sorry!"

"No! Please don't do that!" He leapt up to wrest the wand from her hands as she tried to puncture herself with the blunt end. After a small struggle, with Allen victoriously holding said wand, the woman had stopped hyperventilating enough to breathe.

"Um…Hi? Can you tell me where I am? And why I'm here? And please don't do that!" He snatched the tiara out of her hands as she made a move to choke herself with it.

"I-I-I'm Mirand-da. I'm the…Good Witch of the North. Although I'm not very good at being good." He patted her shoulder as she started to cry again.

"I'd say you're decently good. That's a very nice dress, in a sparkly pink way. This is my first time seeing in color, you know."

"Oh! Thank you! That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me! This is my 103rd job you know." She half-smiled up at Allen.

"That's great. I hope you keep it. But…uh. If you wanted to be a really good…witch? You could tell me where I am? Maybe?" Allen attempted to free himself from her hug, her tears soaking into his good shirt.

"I'm so sorry! I'm such a failure! You're in the Land of the Black Order! BOZ!" Miranda flipped her hand, sans wand.

"Is that B-O-Z or Boz? And what's the Z stand for?"

"Either, I guess. I don't know! Bu-but, they said I'm supposed to give you these." She pointed her finger at the now empty shoes.

"Who is they? Why do I need the shoes?"

"Well, that's Lulubell, the Wicked Witch of the East!" Miranda seemed to be gaining a little more confidence, now the choked sobs only punctuated every other word.

"Yeah! You squished her with your house!" The one called Road was back.

"Bam!"

"Splat!" Two heads poked out of the corn, beyond which Allen could see now was a brightly colored village of sorts.

"We're Jasdebi! And that's Lulubell you've smashed!"

"Oh no! I'm far to young and pliable to go to prison for life! First Tim being taken away, and now this…" Allen looked dejectedly at the ground. When he did, he jumped with a start.

"Dear God! Those are hideous!" The bright red bowling shoes now adorned his feet, and he had the sinking feeling that if he pulled up his pants leg, a fantastic pair of checkered knee high socks would be covering his calves. Miranda looked down at his feet as well now, tears again forming in her eyes.

"But you can't take them off! Or The Wicked Witch of the West will be able to get you! Don't take them off, please Allen!"

"Okay, okay. Just please don't start crying again." Allen wondered how many sizes too small the shoes were, they never had his size at the bowling alley.

"Anyways, I think its time for Miranda to shove off."

"Yeah! Shoo, sparkles."

"O-oh! I'm sorry Munchk-!"

"Noahkins. We renamed ourselves." Miranda looked apologetic as she started to fade into bubbles.

"Oh, well, bye now…I'm sorry I'm such a failure! But don't take those off! Please!" And with that, she promptly popped and disappeared. Allen vaguely wondered if this was heaven or hell. Then someone snapped in his face.

"Hey, kid! Pay attention!" A tall, darkly tan man stood inches from him. Then the one who had pronounced herself Road again pushed herself to the front.

"Okay, come on! We're going to pronounce you a national hero of Noahkinland. Grab him Tiki!"

"Ah! What? National whoizdunit?"

ooooo

Allen stood dazed in the middle of a brightly colored courtyard, as the Noah now stood around him, slightly menacingly.

"I'm Road, and I'm the leader of the Noahkins."

"I'm Tiki Mick, lights coordinator and head of the choir."

"Skin Boric." This one spoke only for taking the huge rainbow lollipop out of his mouth.

"We're Jasbedi!" The two twins shouted in unison.

"And this is where Lulubell would introduce herself. But she's not here." Glare. "Because she's squashed." Strong look. "Under your house." Piecing gaze.

"But now we sing!" Tiki clapped his hands together and took in a large breath.

"Which song?"

"Skip the Kansas one, because Miranda left."

"Ahhh, I don't like that one!" Allen stood, still in shock as the Noah began to squabble in front of him.

"Ding dong the Wicked-!"

"Bitch!"

"-is deeadddd!"

"That was rude, rero!"

Allen slowly began to recover from the strangeness of it all, when Road suddenly shouted about the squalor.

"Forget it! No singing! Just give him the medal and tell him to screw off!" A medal was shoved into Allen's hands, and a few of the Noah's gave him a slap on the back. They stood awkwardly for a few moments.

"Is everyone late today?" Road looked at the sky, glaring. Then, a cackle crashed through the sky, and everything went dark.

"AH. AHEM. IS THIS THING ON? HEL- OH. IT'S ON RIGHT NOW? OH SOR- RIGHT." An evil cackle rang through the sky, as something whooshed out of the darkening clouds.

"Oh no." Someone said, emphatically. Or not.

"I AM THE WICKED SUPERVISOR OF THE WEST, AND YOU HAVE KILLED MY FELLOW WITCH! FOR THIS YOU WILL PAY WALKER! AND YOUR LITTLE GOLEM TOO!"

"Not Tim! Why is everyone picking on Tim?!" Allen stamped his foot in anger.

"NO! THE SHOES! HE HAS THE SHOES! ("Reever, this wasn't how we planned it!" "Sorry Supervisor!" "MORE COFFEE.")" A dark haired, Chinese man landed a small, streamlined robot in the courtyard. "GIVE THEM TO ME!"

"Oi, you don't have to shout through that Megaphone, I can hear you. That Good Witch said not to, so I won't." Allen crossed his arms and turned his back.

"FOILED AGAIN." And with that, the man threw down what looked a smoke bomb and took off again. Allen coughed as tear gas filled his eyes, water streaming down his cheeks. He pondered why the man looked so familiar, then forgot about it as the Noahkins began to push him from behind.

"Okay, now that's over, its time to begin your journey!" Road announced.

"My journey? To where? Why?" Allen questioned again, tripping and scuffing the bowling shoes.

"To the Emerald Castle!"

"So you can go home! The Wizard will zap you there!"

"He can do a large variety of things!"

"But I don't want to go home!" Allen huffed and whined.

"Here's a 20 kid, now just follow that yellow road right there." Tiki shoved a bill into his hands.

"Now I have forty dollars!" Allen grabbed it and started at a brisk pace down the brick road. "And I know what yellow looks like now! Thank you Noahkins! For the medal and all."

"Yeah, just put that in the mail when you get home. We need it back." Road yelled after him. "We stole that from the Special Olympics."

ooooo

"Wow, how pretty! I love all the corn fields…it's like I've never seen them before." Allen chattered to Tim, who was perched on his head. "Oh cool!" Allen walked off the path for a moment over to a stand that hung off the ground.

"I've never seen one so realistic before, right Tim?" Allen looked at the scarecrow hanging from the poles. "If I were crow, I wouldn't come near. He's mean looking." Allen sidled around the base of the stand.

"Look at his hair! I wonder if it's real." He reached out to touch it, only to jump back in surprise when the sharp eyes of the scarecrow blinked and the scowl deepened.

"Don't you dare touch my hair beansprout!"

"I'm not that short!" Allen took too much offense to the comment to be shocked the scarecrow was yelling at him.

"Yes you are. Now get me down from here!"

"What? Why? You're mean! You could consider being nicer about it."

"Well, I don't have a brain. I don't consider anything. Especially about beansprouts like you."

"Yo-you don't have a brain?" Allen stammered.

"Who told you that?! Now get me down from here!"

"You just asked me that!"

"Do I have to repeat it a third time?" The Scarecrow glowered at Allen from his pole, he sure as hell wasn't going to tell the shorty that he had the memory of a rodent. Even though it technically wouldn't be memory. This was too confusing a thought process, so he instead chose to go back to being angry.

"Okay, I'll get you down for a trade." Allen was much too kind hearted for his own safety.

"What?" The Scarecrow snapped.

"You come with me to this castle. Supposedly there's a Wizard who can do a large variety of things. You could get a brain! And maybe some anger management classes!"

"You want to repeat that when I can move my arms, beansprout?!"

"You want down?"

"Che. Fine." Allen began to untie the knots that held the Scarecrow up. As he freed both hands, the stuffed man came crashing to the ground, scattering something that looked suspiciously like Soba Noodles.

"We never mention this again, or I'll cut you." The Scarecrow glared up at Allen as he stuffed noodles back into his black coat. The Scarecrow stood up, and picked up one of the sticks from his stand and inspected it. He swung it for a second, and seemingly satisfied, help it up proudly.

"This is Mugen." He then whacked Allen across the head with it.

"Err…hi Mugen." Allen said blearily from the ground. The Scarecrow stuffed the stick into his belt and began marching down the brick road.

"Er…Scarecrow, that's the wrong way."

ooooo

"Ah, I'm tired, Scarecrow. Let's rest here."

"Che. Stupid Beansprout weakling." But the Scarecrow sat down harshly as well.

"Maybe I should cut down on the skipping some." Allen collapsed, still breathing hard. The Scarecrow didn't reply.

The large apple trees in the clearing provided lovely shade. But Allen felt suddenly uneasy, he could almost hear something…rhythmical. Like…he didn't know. Couldn't quite place it.

Then it hit him.

* * *

Next Time? 

Color Coordination is much more important in a Techicolor Movie, Mr. Tinman, and an argument over depth perception.


	3. My Mother is Actually A Prude

Thanks to all who reviewed!

Keep them coming, they make me feel fuzzy inside! Luffles.

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The apple bounced off the back of Allen's head and rolled off further into the woods.

"Ouch! What in the-!" Another fruit hit him squarely in the middle of his forehead.

"Stupid Beansprout! OW." The Scarecrow had almost cracked a smile at Allen's pain before receiving a direct hit for himself. He whipped out his dangerous looking stick and pointed it at several unoffending looking trees.

"I will chop you down if you don't stop!" He shook the stick menacingly.

"Uh, Scarecrow, I don't think you can chop down trees with a stick."

"Quiet, idiot! I'm talking to the trees!" The Scarecrow snapped back quickly, then hitting another apple out of the sky as it rocketed towards him. Allen took two to the stomach.

"Trees don't talk! And they can't psychically throw things! Or physically! Or any type of projectile moving…" Allen trailed off as another apple bounced off his head. He started to crawl towards the direct the apples where coming from. The Scarecrow waved his stick around, mumbling menacing curses at the trees. Before the two appeared a whirring machine, stamped across the side a large marquee read "KOMURIN APPLE TOSSER." Impact font and everything. Allen was impressed.

"The Wicked Head Supervisor of the West must have put this here to stop us!" Allen exclaimed to the Scarecrow who was standing menacingly over something.

Carefully picking his way around the machine, he joined the Scarecrow on the other side of the spitting machine. Allen looked down at the ground, and almost smacked himself. The source of the noise he had heard.

"I don't think my entire stash of sleeping pills and all of Master's drink could make me sleep _this_ soundly." Allen squatted next to the snoring figure. The Scarecrow made a disgusted 'che' sound, and poked the man's shoulder roughly with his stick. Allen leaned over to look at the man lying (apparently comfortably) on the ground. A bright red head of hair was held up with a terrible shade of green headband, a dark eye patch covered the right eye, and a putrid orange scarf was pulled up as a sort of makeshift pillow. He clutched a small mallet to his chest, and apparently feeling the stares of the others promptly rolled over and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'yeah, I like it like that.'

"You know, this guy makes me wonder if seeing in color is actually a good thing. I mean, really. Green and orange? Who makes these kinds of mistakes?"

"Says the beansprout with bright red bowling shoes."

"Sez you!" Allen and the Scarecrow glared at each other for a moment, before being snapped out of it by another large red-pine sawing snore from their feet.

"Maybe we should wake him up." Allen really needed to work on that kindness thing.

"Or we should just leave him and his infernal machine."

"Poke him." For once, the Scarecrow merely glowered and did as asked, roughly shoving his stick into the side of the recumbent red head.

"Fiv-eh minhuts…guramps."

"What did he just call me? Poke him harder!" Allen was quite sensitive about age jokes. A jab to the stomach received a half-hearted swat and another mumble. A prod to the shoulder was merely a groan.

"Can I just stab him through?" The Scarecrow festered and raised the stick with both hands above his head.

"No! Don't do that!" Allen reached to stop the Soba-stuffed brainless doff from braining the man, but promptly tripped over the treadless shoes, and fell across the sleeper.

"DOUF. Okay, okay, I'm up! Crazy ole pand-Hey! Get your elbow out of there!" The man sat bolt upright and scooted out from under Allen. He stuck his arms in the arm and yawned, dramatically. He blinked, looking up at the homicidal looking Scarecrow, and the slightly dazed Allen.

"I swear this was my harem, not Teddy Roosevelt and some molester." The man adjusted his scarf and ran a hand through his hair. Not that it helped it any.

"Teddy _what_, Rabbit?" The Scarecrow narrowed his already narrow eyes.

"Oi, nevermind. So who're you? And you?"

"Better question, who are you? And what are you doing?" Allen stood up and brushed himself off.

"I'm a Bookman! Or a Bookman in training, I guess." He looked around nervously before continuing. "I was here trying to break this machine, and I got tired and took a nap. The end." He twirled the tiny mallet in his hand as a flourish.

"…That's it? Well, I'm Allen, and I'm headed to Emerald Castle so I can find out how to return these shoes, and this is Scarecrow. He needs a brain, as you can see."

"Oh yes. Brains are nice. I have a big one." The Junior Bookman stuck a thumb into his chest proudly, recoiling slightly as the pointy end of Mugen-stick hovered too closely to his remaining eye. "No 'fense of course. And those are terrible shoes, I'm not sure the Wizard can do much to help you with fashion sense."

"Says the man wearing orange and green? This is techicolor you know."

"My boyish good looks let me get away with it. Now, I need to finish my job, so if you can stand back." Allen took a step back. The Scarecrow didn't move.

"Shape-shifting hammer! Let's go!" The Bookman held his mallet up to the sky. Nothing happened.

"I think it's a mallet, Bookman."

"Your mother's a whore." The Bookman stated bluntly, not even turning around.

"What? My mother's dead!"

"Then she's a dead whore."

"That's heartless! Terrible! How could you say something like that!" Allen's lower lip quivered.

"I ain't got one of those." He turned around a hit his chest with a closed fist. "Nothing in the chest cavity. Blanko, zippo, zilch. Cept my lungs of course. And ribs. And diaphragm. And various muscle groups." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then held up the mallet again. "Fine, we'll try it your way though, if it makes you feel better."

"You don't have a…heart? At all?"

"Shape-shifting Mallet! Let's go!" Dramatic pose. Nothing.

"Idiot Rabbit, stop standing like that."

"This is necessary for the procedure! And nope, nada heart." He shook the mallet/hammer and held it up to his ear.

"Maybe its just an ordinary mallet after all." Allen looked confused for a moment before piping up again. "Hey! Maybe you can come to Emerald Castle with us! A get a new mallet, so you can do your job!"

"Okay, sounds fun. Let's be friends." He whirled on the Scarecrow, and seemed to ponder for a moment. "Did your father not love you enough as a child, or did you always enjoy dresses and tights?"

After a brief but violent struggle, Allen held the two as far apart as his arms would stretch.

"And maybe we can get you some tact too."

ooooo

"We're off the steal the gizzard, la la la la la la l-DAH!"

"That's not how the song goes, idiot!"

"Will you skip in time with the beat at least! You're slowing everyone down!"

"Now, now, I will pull this Daisy Chain over if you two don't stop fighting right now, twerps!"

"Who are you to be calling me a twerp, Mr. Your-Mother-Jokes-For-20-Straight-Minutes?"

"I can't help it! It's a disability!"

"Would you like my medal, then?"

"Oh, I'd say you're all twerps."

"Whoziwhatzit?"

All three slammed on the brakes, turning and staring at the Bookman's end of the line. There stood the Head Supervisor, glasses shimmering and evil grin spreading across his face. He held a container of something mysterious in the other hand. The Bookman promptly unlinked arms with him and stood back, a light of slight disgust on his face. Tim hid behind Allen's head. The Scarecrow held up his stick. The Head Supervisor held up a megaphone.

"Helping this little man along, are you gentlemen?"

"No, need to shout. Or insinuate things."

"I will cut you."

"Well, you stay out of it, or I'll serve you for dinner-!"

"WHO TOLD YOU ABOUT_THAT_?"

"And I'll use you as my personal calendar Mr. Memory!"

"Your sister is-!"

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY PRECIOUS SISTER!" and with that, the Head Supervisor threw his steaming hot container of coffee towards the Bookman, who promptly ducked, the steaming brew covering The Scarecrow instead.

"Now I'm soggy! You'll pay for this Rabbit! And it's your fault too Beansprout!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"That's exactly it! And Rabbit! You get back here!" The two took off at full tilt down the road. Allen noticed that the Supervisor of the West had disappeared, and took off after the other two.

"You don't have to listen to him! Please don't leave me!"

ooooo

"This forest…it's a bit, uh. Dark and scary, innit?" Allen looked around nervously.

"It's deciduous." The Bookman preformed his thumb to the chest and cat-who-got-the-cream grin routine.

"Wha? What's that mean? It sounds deadly." Allen squeezed Timcampy tighter, the small golem waved his tiny arms about in protest.

"Oh, there's probably animals in it, sure. Like deer, raccoons, squirrels…bears." With the last one he turned around slowly towards Allen, evil grin in place.

"Buh-Bears?!"

"Tigers." The Scarecrow didn't sound scared, just stating the obvious.

"There are no tige-! OW." The Bookman rubbed arm.

"Tigers. And Lions."

"Oh my!" As Allen moved closer to the two, they looked at each other and smirked.

"Lions, tigers, and raccoons, oh my."

* * *

Next time...?

Forest Creatures, Estrogen and You.

(AND! The first person to get the Roosevelt joke will win somethingggg. I don't know what, but YEAH. Have fun.)


	4. I'm a Broken Record I'm a Broken Record

A/N: Ultra apologies for combination lateness/shortness/stupidness. XD

Been a busy week for me, but updates should be consistent again this week.

And no-one got the Teddy Roosevelt comment. Figured that would go over some heads. That's alright though. **Big Stick Diplomacy**. Wikipedia that shiznit. XD Maybe I'll give the prize out later...hm.

Enjoy Chapter 4.

* * *

"You guys aren't funny!" Allen glowered as the other two chortled (well, as the Bookman chortled enough for two) at his terrified expression. "There could be terrible things in the woods! Things that can kill you! Racoons can get rabies you know…" 

"Right, Allen. And tell me, how many rabid animals have we seen? Are there any frothing deer following us? I think that might be a –UWAOGH!" The Bookman literally jumped feet into the air and bolted behind Allen, cowering.

"Oi! Watch were you're grabbing!" Allen flinched.

"Opps, sorry. This is totally not homosexual." The Bookman promptly removed his hands. The Scarecrow was mysteriously next to them, looking slightly more angry than usual.

"Rawr! Rawr!" Snarling noises issued from an angry-looking Chinese girl, standing squarely in the middle of their path. "Come on! Get out! Shoo! I'll fight you! I really will!" Her short, slightly scruffy hair cut looked like it had been done to make her look intimidating. From her shorts protruded a lion's tail, which looked awkwardly placed and far too long.

"Look, guys! It's got boobs!"

"Thanks, Bookman. I have eyes." Allen rolled said eyes. The Lioness appeared to be hopping from one foot to the other, slightly scowl on her features, hands up. Turning to the Bookman and back to the Scarecrow she managed her best 'Lioness with PMS' expression' on them. "Come on! I can take all of you out with my Iron Fist! I can beat up my brother!" She demonstrated on the air.

"Are you doing the potty dance?" Allen clutched Timcampy to his chest.

The Bookman took out his mallet, twirling it in his fingers.

"Pulling a weapon on a lady would you?" She turned ferociously towards him, only to be met with the pointy end of Mugen.

"Oi, come on Scarecrow, you can't slash a _girl_." The Bookman pointed at the Lioness' chest for emphasis. She scoffed and her nose twitched.

The Scarecrow turned Mugen on the Bookman, watching him hold the hammer defensively. "Hypocrite."

"WOW, You know what that means? Geez, next you'll be able to dress yourself! Now, now, no need to point that…"

Timcampy floated lazily over to the Lioness' feet. Somehow, they looked might familiar, like he had seen them recently. Despite that, he was starving, there wasn't much to eat in BOZ and Timcampy enjoyed his regular feeding times. Maybe just a pinkie toe…

"YEAARGGGGH."

Crash.

Crunch.

"Nyeh!"

"Che!"

"Guwah! Uh…?" Allen sat up slightly, as he felt a large weight on his chest, and heard several sharp intakes of breath. A massive honking sob ripped out from the load on his ribs, and he opened his eyes. The Lioness had attached herself to his neck, and was currently crying her bloody heart out. The cacophony of cries barraged his ears, his head ringing from the combined force of hitting the ground after being tackled by the full weight of the woman and the assault of noise.

"Quick! Someone turn off all power to the water works factory!" The Bookman exclaimed, and apparently pleased with his joke, flung his hands into the air dramatically. He had been shoved aside violently as the Lioness bolted for the nicest looking of the motley gang. The Scarecrow held a struggling Timcampy in one fist, glaring at the golden ball out of slitted eyes.

"Oh my, you're nothing but a crybaby really, are you?" Allen patted her back timidly, which only elicited more heart-wrenching, kitten-killing, romance-movie inspired sobs. He stopped.

"Well that's not very attractive is it?" The Bookman had stood up and leaned precariously over Allen and the Lioness in a heap on the ground. The Lioness' sobs had quieted a bit, and she grabbed ahold of her long tail and began to daub at her eyes.

"Today wasn't a good mascara day…" She sniffled and tried to smile. Allen grinned and put a hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to sit up on her own.

"Horrible, that's not even a good color on you. That haircut is terrible by the way." The Bookman put a hand on his chin, as if considering his remark. The Lioness promptly collapsed and began to sob again.

"Look, idiot! You made the woman cry again!" The Scarecrow threw Timcampy at the Bookman's head. ("Oiii!")

Allen panicked, grabbing the Lioness' shoulders.

"Oh no! Please don't mind them! He's got no tact! It's an iron deficiency or something!" He looked up at the other two quickly, noticing the Bookman squealing as the Scarecrow bashed him in the head with his stick. "I don't think either of them have a brain to boot, so you mustn't mind them!" The Lioness looked up at Allen, smiling through her torrential tears.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Its just, without my brother, I've been so scared! I even scare myself without my makeup on…"

"That scares me too!" The Bookman had this obnoxious habit of being right in the moment for every potentially degrading comment ever. This time though, instead of breaking down into tears, The Lioness introduced the Bookman to her Iron Fist. Allen could have sworn he heard the Scarecrow outright laugh, but then again no hell-fire was raining from the sky, so he assumed it to be safe.

The Lioness stood up, finished wiping the tears from her eyes, and hung her head.

"If I only had enough courage, I could go find my brother and help him…"

"Well, you can come with us! I need to get home. We're going to see a Wizard who can do a large variety of things!" Allen happily exclaimed for the third time.

"He's going to give me a heart, and him some horse tranquilizer so he'll stop flying into psychotic rages." The Bookman made a move to grab the Scarecrow around the shoulder, before considering and stopping. Allen nodded.

"Can he really give me an idealistic goal? That's amazing!" The Lioness clapped her hands together and brightened. "I'd love to come!"

The Bookman promptly linked his elbow to hers, and began walking briskly down the path, lewd grin plastered on his face.

"Come back with that woman!" Both Allen and the Scarecrow chased after the cackling red-head and worried looking girl.

**oooooo**

Up in his high castle, the wind whipping dreadfully around, The Wicked Head Supervisor of the West changed the channel, flinging the remote across the room.

"Someone turn off that fan and get me my blueprints! Reever!" Reever promptly appeared, adjusting his offset wings.

"Yes, Head Supervisor?" He backed off as he realized the area behind the Head was filled with flames and a scream soundtrack.

"They have soiled her! It is settled! I will dreadfully mutilate and kill them all! Fetch my Komurin!"

"But Head, they're just trying to help he-" He was hit in the face with a coffee mug.

"RUINED HER INNOCENCE I SAY! Now, how shall I do this…AHA." Various crashes and noises filled the halls of the Wicked Castle and a low, evil laughter rose above the crashing of a sheet of metal that Johnny was shaking.

"Something with poison in it! Attractive to the eye, soothing to the smell…and tasty to the stomach." A wide grin split his face. This _time, he had those shoes. _

* * *

Next Time In BOZ: 

Starch and The Benefits of Not Having a Heart, The World's Gaudiest City, and Touching Family Reunions.


	5. Revenge and Soba: Best Served Cold

Welcome one, welcome all! To the hardest chapter to write yet. Curse you plot, getting all in the way!

Enjoy, yo.

* * *

Reever pedaled furiously, the bricks sending jitters all along his rickety bicycle. He adjusted his wings again as he weaved down the yellow brick road, in the distance ahead loomed a great green monolith of a castle. He glared at it, and then squeaked slightly as he hit an uncomfortable bump. The jumble of papers, packages and boards strapped hastily to the back of the bike fluttered as he sped along. 

"I swear, he's had too much coffee…this is a horrible idea." He muttered to himself. "And why do I have to be the monkey? Johnny looks far more like a monkey…"

A low rumbling of thunder/sheet metal being waved could be heard in the distance. He continued to bike.

**OOOOOOO**

The quartet trudged on under the obnoxiously bright blue sky, over the garish yellow brick and beside the eye-blindingly bright green grass.

"Who colored this, a 5 year old?" The Bookman blinked against the sun.

"No, probably you." Allen had quickly learnt to stab back with some of his own quips. The Bookman had to be treated like he was a child, whack him one and he'll learn eventually after he gets bored with being whacked that he should stop and maybe go play with something else. He wasn't bored yet, or he just had a thick skull.

"Oh, hey, boys! I can smell something? I think?" The Lioness tapped her chin and leaned forward.

"Yourself? You've been living in the woods for days." The Scarecrow wrinkled his nose.

"Ah, that's mean Scarecrow, I knew you had it in you!" The Bookman reached to give him a slap on the back, stopping promptly as death laser eye vision bored into his skull.

"No! That's not it! It smells like…"

"I know the smell." The Scarecrow crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Soba." He grated out the word as if it was disgusting.

"It seems gooood…" Allen clutched his stomach and groaned. The Scarecrow glared at him and turned, one hand on Mugen-stick.

"Never say that again!" The Scarecrow looked positively murderous, homicidal intent gleaming in his eyes.

"Uh…okay." Allen cringed. The Bookman let out a nasally chuckle.

"Sensitive, are you?" He tried to hide the Cheshire Cat grin spreading across his face, unsuccessfully.

"HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT _THAT._" The Bookman was pinned to the ground by a very angry Asian and a large pointy stick.

"Uwah! You keep dropping pieces! And you always mutter things about Buckwheat! AHHHHPLEASEPLEASENOTTHERE!" He squealed slightly.

While distracted in their bickering, they hadn't noticed (or perhaps they had and just didn't care) Allen and the Lioness wandering further up the path. Allen's growling stomach grew louder and louder as the smell of noodles floated in the air. As they grew closer, a small stand, with a glowing neon sign on top stating "SOBA" was parked precariously on the side of the road. Inside the stand, complete with cook uniform, stood a bored looking blond man watching some pots and looking busy.

"Oooh, Allen…can we get some? I'm starving. I haven't eaten in _days_." The Lionness looked imploring up at Allen, who was drooling buckets at the sight and smell of food.

"Here! There's 40 dollars! How much Soba can you give me?!" Allen shoved the two crumpled twenties at the man, who nearly dropped the cigarette in his mouth out of surprise.

"Um, you really don't have to give me all th-"

"TAKE IT." Allen vigorously shook the money at him. The Lioness looked worried, and tears began to well up in her eyes. The man gingerly took the money and promptly dumped an entire pot's worth of noodles onto a plate and turned his back to the too. He picked up a red bottle, aptly labeled **POISONOUS: DO NOT PUT INTO FOOD **and dumped it on the plate. He could hear the sound of sobs welling up behind him, and didn't even want to know the relationship problem the two were having.

"I-I'm ju-just so-so appreciative!"

He quickly handed them the plate and scuttled off behind his stand. What could he spend 40 dollars on?

He had always wanted some walkie-talkies or maybe some roller skates.

**OOOOOO**

"And that's why it ok-what the hell?!" The Bookman stumbled (not so) gracefully over the outstretched arm of Allen, spread-eagled out on the yellow bricks. Near him lay The Lioness, snoring softly. Even Timcampy lay motionless on the ground. He squatted down, and picked up one of her arms, and dropped it. It fell to the ground with a flesh-hitting-brick noise. Near the side of the road, there was a mysterious patch of flattened grass, but no stand in sight.

"Woah, this is like that time I got drugged by a hook-!" The Bookman rubbed the back of his head where Mugen-stick was starting to form a dent. The Scarecrow held an empty plate of soba in one hand. "Oi? What's that?"

"They ate it all. And now they won't wake up." The Scarecrow stated bluntly.

"Well I see that. What do we do? Should we just take their wallets and leave 'em?"

"Wake them up!"

"How?"

"Use your Bookman powers, you stupid Rabbit!"

"Bookman wadditzadit?!" A loud crack resounded as the Scarecrow broke the plate over the Bookman's head. Whether through the force of impact, or just plain melodrama, the Bookman keeled over, out like a light.

Suddenly the Scarecrow felt a small blast from behind him, and coughed as glitter and bubbles flew up into his mouth, and sneezed as the smell of hairspray and despair filled his nose.

"What the hell?!"

"O-Oh De-Dear! I'm far too late!" The Decently Good Witch of the North began to cry. She sobbed harder when a stick was thrust under her nose.

"Explain yourself woman!"

"AH! I'm here to help! T-they've been p-poisoned by the Head Sup-supervisor of the West!" She adjusted her pink dress awkwardly, trying not to move too much to avoid the wrath of Mugen.

"Fix it." He growled out. She coughed and pulled out her wand. She waved it about. She twirled it. She pointed it at Allen's prone form with gusto. She turned the sharp end towards herself and began a stabbing motion.

"I'M SUCH A FAILURE. Th-that's all I-I am in lu-life! A Plot Device!"

"Don't do that woman!" The Scarecrow grabbed the end of the wand and yanked it out of her hands. "I will do it!" He first clonked Allen in the head with it, sending a shower of sparks and birds into the air. Then he poked the Lioness harshly in the stomach, the wand spouting glitter and ribbons. Last, he hit the prone Bookman with a well aimed kick to the rump. He handed back the wand to the sobbing Witch.

"Useless."

"I-I AM USELESS." She sobbed even harder. A large poof and she disappeared, _'maybe this time, I'll try drying my hair in the bathtub.'_.

"Che. Now what?" The Scarecrow looked down as Allen groaned and sat up. Allen looked panicky, he quickly patted down his chest, and lifted the rim of his pants. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, much to the anger and confusion of the Scarecrow.

"I had a terrible, terrible nightmare." Allen shuddered, not mentioning more. The Lioness sat up next to him, rubbing her forehead.

"What? What happened…?"

"A horrid pink monster came and cried at you. I hit you with its stick." The Scarecrow crossed his arms and glared. It was the two things he knew to do in times of crisis. Hit things and glare.

"Wait, so that plate of food we ate…?"

"You ate, more like." The Lioness gave a mock glare to Allen.

"Was sent by the Head Supervisor?!" Allen looked at his feet quickly. The bowling shoes where still there, unfortunately.

The Bookman awoke with a loud snort and slightly muffled squawking.

"I just had a terrible dream this was all a terrific allegory representing the social and political crisis of the Populists in the Gilded Era!" The Scarecrow glared at him and the Lioness merely blinked, obviously confused.

"What, dear?" The Lioness raised a hand to his forehead, as he continued to spout. He felt terribly cold, although generally one does when one has no flowing blood on account of not having a heart. She quickly retracted her hand, and worried if it was contagious.

"I can't believe_he_," the Bookman pointed accusingly at Allen, "represents the American people, of all the kids to pick fro-!"

"I don't understand half the things you blather about, really Bookman." Allen shook his head, slightly sadly. The Bookman was tapping the yellow brick road, muttering something incoherent about '_The Gold Standard'_ and '_she sure doesn't look like Williams Jennings Bryan_.'

"Oh dear, here we go again."

"You have no shoes!" The Bookman stopped his tirade to point at the Lioness.

"That's the worst one yet Bookman!" Allen crossed his arms.

"No, she has no shoes! LOOK." The Lioness looked down at her feet.

"Oh! Oh no!"

**OOOOOO**

In a castle, far far away, Johnny had stopped waving sheet metal because his arms got tired. However, screams could still be heard bouncing off the stone walls.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GO THE WRONG SHOES?!"

"THEY WERE ON HER FEET! I ASSUMED YOU MEANT HER!"

"DAMN YOU REEVER!" Komui threw his last coffee mug at his retreated assiantant's head.

"I guess there's some things that are better done yourself." He adjusted his glasses, grinning evilly. He loaded up his aerodynamic Komurin with several important items and promptly leapt out a window, laughing easily.

Reever took the chance to crawl out of the closet, breathing heavily.

"_He's gone mad._" Oh well, nothing new.

**OOOOOO**

"_WE'RE OFF TO SEE THE LIZARD, THE REPTILIAN LIZARD OF BOZ_."

"Please stop! I know every word that can possibly rhyme with Wizard! PLEASE." Allen covered his ears with his hands, attempting to ignore the raucous red-head sauntering beside him. (These were blizzard, gizzard, grizzard, izzard, and quizard, alphabetically.)

"Look! The Emerald Castle! We're here!" The Lioness pointed excitedly. In the near distance loomed a great green monolith of a structure. It's verdant towers rose into the sky, and as it drew closer, Allen could almost taste the release from his terrible shoes. _Freedom!_

"Oh Allen! Maybe they can help me find my brother! I'm so excited, we're so close!" The Lioness walked faster, the door within 20 feet.

"Hey guys, I got this. I can get us in, watch out." The Bookman pushed his way to the front of the group and strode up to the gleaming green door. He bent down and took in a breathe.

"OI. GRAMPS. LET US IN. ITS JUNIOR." He shouted, everyone else cringed at the volume. A small panel at the middle of the door slammed open, and a pair of dark rimmed eyes looked out menacingly.

"You idiot apprentice! Where have you been?!"

"…Junior?" Allen questioned. The Bookman turned and shot a glare at him.

"Aye, aye, things happen, you know panda?" He drawled, dropping his voice and feigning innocence.

"Don't call me panda you colossal idiot." The eyes narrowed further. The Bookman visibly flinched.

"They're hear to see the Wizard! He can do a large variety of things! I think I'm going to ask for a new hammer…"

"You've going to need a new head after I'm done with you!"

"No no! The angry looking Asian is the one that needs a br-OW." An arm shot out through the door and grabbed the (Junior?) Bookman by the ear and slammed him into the door. Much whining occurred. Allen walked up to the door and looked into the slot.

"Please! You have to let us in! I really really need to find out what's wrong with my shoes! Please, old man, let us in!" Allen looked imploringly at him.

"Ye Gods! Those are pretty terrible shoes." The old man released the Bookman, who was clutching his ear and scowling, scuttled out of reach of the door. Suddenly the Lioness sank to her knees, tears welling up and over her cheeks.

"W-we c-c-came thi-this faarrrrr, to be s-s-s-s-stopped huh-huh-here!" Everyone turned to look at her incredulously. Silence emanated from the door. After a lengthy pause, a muttered "Don't let the silly girl cry so much," the sound of locks grating clicked as the door swung open. The Scarecrow strode through first, shoving Allen slightly, The Lioness (mysterious beaming now) bolted through after Allen. As the Bookman began to walk forward, the door slammed shut with lightening speed.

"OI PANDA. LET ME IN!" He pounded on the door. "DON'T LEAVE ME OUT HERE. YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE ME." He kicked and scratched and beat and yelled. The door didn't budge.

Muffled shouting could be heard on the other side, Allen looked back over his shoulder, but then turned back around. _That's what you get for calling my mother a whore._ An evil smile spread across his face.

"I'm Bookman Senior, and welcome to the Emerald Castle, home of the Mediocre Wizard of BOZ."

"Oh great. There's two of them." The Scarecrow narrowed his eyes, yet as a needle flew narrowly past his face, he visibly flinched.

"Don't you compare me to that miserable apprentice!" The old man hadn't appeared to move.

"Uh, anyways, we're here to see the Wizard! I need to know what to do about all these homicide attempts!"

"I'm going to get some courage!"

"I need a drink." The Scarecrow muttered sharply under his breathe.

"Well, I'll try and take you to see him, but you can't go looking like that." Bookman Senior began to lead them through the inner worked of the Castle. Most of it was green.

"Well let's begin." Strains of jilting music suddenly started in the background.

Allen's stomach dropped.

**OOOOOOO**

"Ahahha! I see it! In my sights! The GREAT GREEN CASTLE. HERE I COME!"

Skewed and insane laughter split the bright sunshiny day.

Somewhere, somehow, a puppy died.

**OOOOOOO**

Outside, the day was turning into night,

The Bookman sniffed loudly, collapsed in a pathetic heap by the bottom of the door.

"I'm so sorry guysssss. I'll never ever ever ever call your mother 'so fat it takes two trains and a bus to get to her good side' again…" That was the 224th "Yo Momma" joke he had given up, but none of it seemed to matter to the door. He gave it another half-hearted thump.

He hiccuped.

_  
"I'm so lonnneeeelyyy, I'mm Mrrr. Loonneeell-_OW. WATCH WHERE YOU THROW THOSE BOOTS LADY."

* * *

Next time on Wizard of BOZ: 

I do believe in Technical Difficulties and Highly Improbable Accidents, I do! I do!


End file.
